


Contention

by Asha_Everly



Category: Original Work
Genre: 404 No Hero Found, Age Difference, Aggressive Sexualization, Cocaine, Come Marking, Daddy Issues, Dark, Disturbing Themes, Dubious Things Happen, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, F/M, Hate Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lawyers, Lust, Mentions of Suicide, Modern Era, Nonconsent Fantasies, Objectification, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Personality Disorders, Poor Life Choices, Power Dynamics, Rough Oral Sex, Self-Destruction, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Squirting, Toxic Relationship, Twisted, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, White Collar Crime, lots of anger, so much plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 12,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asha_Everly/pseuds/Asha_Everly
Summary: When associate attorney Kara Hayes wakes up in a hospital bed on a Saturday night, the last thing she wants to hear is that she’s possibly been a victim of assault. An assault she doesn’t even remember or care to recall. She pushes the very notion away into a mental box with all her other bad memories that she doesn’t care to entertain.Only, this dark memory that she doesn’t recall won’t let her be.When she’s put on a high-profile case with one of the named partners at her firm, their opposing counsel throws her life off-balance. He looks at Kara like he knows a dirty secret and she doesn’t understand why. That is, until he corners her in a bar alone later that night and tries to buy her silence with a smirk on his perfect face.This is not a love story. Kara doesn’t believe in love and a man like Nicholas Havenwood-Calais is the worst sort of self-harm she can imagine. What he wants is far worse.______________________________
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 159
Kudos: 104





	1. Prologue to Despair

**Author's Note:**

> **AN:** Hello all, Asha Everly here. This story has been floating round in my head for some time, dark and twisted as it may be. Please note: all characters are mine, along with plot lines, as this is Original Fiction. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
> 
> This is **Part I of II in a series.**
> 
> As for me...  
> I love exploring control, violence, submission, and all sorts of things that may make you squirm inside. I don't pull my punches and I don't sugar coat things. This story is a tale about a very unhealthy girl with a troubled past that makes all the wrong choices. There are mentions of non-con and quite a bit of dub-con. If that makes you uncomfortable, PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER. Please observe the tags, especially take note of **nonconsent fantasies**. These are very dark subjects and though the beginning of this story may not seem extreme, things do degrade as the plot continues. 
> 
> Villains as romance interests are my thing. If they are not your thing, you probably should run.
> 
> If you are brave and into dark reads, know that I like lust that is full of teeth and struggle, so hold on tight if you choose to stick around. This is a dark story, **404 No Hero Found**. 
> 
> Plus, Kara is no angel herself.

When she wakes, everything is blurred and her jaw aches. Aches, like she’s been clenching it for hours on end and her throat feels scratchy and sore. Kara blinks slowly and lies there, trying to catalogue her body and where she is.

The _why_ of it all is eluding her. She’s not home and she’s not in her bed. The room smells of chemicals and everything is painfully bright, invasive.

Distantly, she hears someone say, “She’s waking up.”

They sound so far away, like they’re underwater.

Someone is leaning over her, from the side of the bed, invading her space. She winces, shutting her eyes tight. Why does her head hurt? The person speaks, the acidic scent of energy drink on their breath. “Miss Hayes? Can you hear me?”

Kara tries to reply, but her voice comes out a croak. Surprised, her eyes fly open again and she tries to clear her throat roughly. The sensation in her esophagus is not unlike having tonsillitis. It burns, feels tight and swollen. “I- _ahem_. It’s just Kara. Where am I?”

It’s uncomfortable to speak and there’s a suspicious stinging sensation in her lower lip. When her sight finally focuses, she sees two people in suits standing nearby, looking at her with serious faces. A man and woman; their uptight demeanor screams cop to Kara.

“You’re at the hospital. You’ve had an accident.” The man is closest to her. Early thirties with an exhausted look in his eyes. His hair looks like it needs a good taming and the scruff on his chin gives him a more rugged appearance.

The woman is pushing fifty, standing by the door, a certain scowl hovering about her face.

Kara groans, feeling her lip pull uncomfortably at all movements of her mouth. Like stitches being pulled too tight. She takes a moment to consider, lying in this bed that isn’t hers. “What accident? Are you cops?”

“We’re detectives at the local precinct,” the female detective states carefully. “We were actually hoping you could tell us what you remember. I’m Detective Collins and my partner is Detective Wellis.”

Well, that confirms that. Cops and a hospital bed; what the hell did Kara get herself into?

Sitting up, Kara doesn’t feel any other pain in her body. Nothing feels broken. She tests moving her fingers and toes and all seem to be fine. She stares at the two people looking at her with disconcerting intensity. Her mind is empty of all reason and explanation, a blur. She remembers being at a club with Bianca, but… “I’m drawing a blank. I don’t recall how I got here or why I would be here at all. I think…I was out with a friend.”

The male detective, Wellis, gives his partner a look. His expression is uncomfortable. “Miss Hayes-”

 _Ugh_. Why is he so formal? Obviously, he knows what her name is. Kara has no doubt that the pair raided her purse for identification while she was out of it.

“It’s pronounced ‘care-uh’,” Kara rasps.

“Sorry, force of habit.” He doesn’t look sorry. “Kara. One of the girls on the row called for us. Said you’d been a little roughed up by one of the usual suspects. You were passing out cold and she didn’t want you to be alone on the street. We’re lucky she was brave enough to call.”

The female detective, Collins, added, “This isn’t the first time this has happened on that street. I know this is hard to hear, but the doctor mentioned signs of oral distress. We need you to tell us everything you recall; any small detail helps. Please, take your time.”

_Oral distress? What the hell is that code for? Assault?_

Kara sits up straight, hands fisting the sheets. The words can’t apply to her; it’s like hearing a foreign language. She can see their mouths moving, but the words don’t make sense. This must be a bad dream. “Are you saying I was assaulted? I was out with a girlfriend at a club, I have no idea what this is about, but it’s a mistake. Maybe I got tipsy and fell down some stairs; I’m clumsy, is that a crime?”

Apparently, something she said isn’t quite what they are looking for. Detective Wellis’s dark eyes harden briefly and his body shifts, shoulders squaring up. Ah. Definitely not happy with something Kara said. “There’s no need to be difficult. You don’t have to lie to us; we’re on your side.”

Something red and sharp spikes in Kara’s chest, but she pushes it down. She’s gained better control of her temper these days, but it’s still there; anger always floats in her veins alongside her blood.

It’s hard to keep the indignation out of her tone. “I’m not being difficult. I just don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve got the wrong girl.” Her words come out bitingly and she can taste copper on her tongue. “I’ve got a split lip. There’s no cause for hospitalization. Or a witch hunt.”

Both detectives seem generally unmoved by her barely leashed hostility. “Well, girls like you generally don’t make this easy, even when we _are_ trying to help,” Detective Collins says dryly, disdain in her eyes.

That strikes a strange chord in Kara. Something she didn’t catch, her mind still sluggish...from what? Drugs? Certainly not alcohol. She’s been better; she doesn’t fall into the bottle like she once did. “ _Girls like me_? What the hell is that about?”

Detective Wellis gives her a hard look. “Look. I’m not going to book you for prostitution. Not with what you’ve been through tonight. We just want to nail whoever did this. We’ve had a few working girls get roughed up, but none want to testify against…well, anyone. Most of them are saying it’s what they were paid to do and have no interest even speaking to a sketch artist.”

Prostitution? Pull the other!

A bark of laughter almost tears out of Kara’s throat, bitter and disbelieving. She holds it in, not wanting to irritate her throat more. “I’m sorry.” Kara licks her split lip, wincing, the copper taste earthy and raw. God, this is a fucking laugh. “Are you insinuating that you think I’m a hooker?”

Her response seems to throw him off, his brown eyes examining her closely. “As I said. I won’t book you. I don’t care about that. But you were on a street known for solicitation after hours. Dressed to party with a few bills falling out of your purse. You were out cold. One of the girls called for help because you were unresponsive. She was worried. Tell me, what’s that supposed to make us think?”

She’s too tired for this and Kara’s head is pounding. Her jaw aches, making her neck feel stiff, hard to move. Her night wasn’t supposed to end this way.

As if speaking to a child, Kara rolls her eyes up towards the ceiling, counting the cracks. _Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t lose your temper._ “I’m an associate at Benson & Clarke. I’m not being facetious when I tell you that I have no idea why I’m here or why you’re questioning me.”

Detective Wellis makes a scribble on his notepad. His eyes rise up to hers once more, something alight there. Interest. Like a hound catching the scent of prey. “You’re a lawyer?”

Kara doesn’t like the way that fact seems to interest him. “An associate. Why does that matter?”

He shrugs. “Just interesting. You certainly ended up in the wrong side of town tonight.”

Narrowing her eyes at him, Kara says guardedly, “You said other people have been ‘roughed up’. If that’s the case, you don’t need me. Lastly, I _wasn’t_ attacked.”

Kara isn’t a victim, not some sniveling girl that can’t take care of herself. This is stupidity, absolutely offensive. She _refuses_ what they’re telling her.

“Miss Hayes, it would really help us if you would cooperate.”

How many times does she need to tell this guy to use her name? “Why do I need to cooperate over something that I don’t even recall? You’re wasting your time.” There’s a reason she went into law. Kara loves a fight and she loves hostility.

There’s a certain thrill to it, being in an argument, the way her blood pounds and her heart races. The fight is all about the struggle.

In fact, her last relationship had ended with her boyfriend calling her a ‘contentious bitch’.

And, perhaps the relationship before that too. The therapist she saw years ago would have frowned with disappointment, would have told Kara that her taste for aggression isn’t healthy. That she’s been holding on to the past. Well, too bad.

Detective Wellis’s lips pull downward stiffly. He leans forward in his chair and the scent of him carries over to Kara. Citrus, smoke, and a hint of sweat. His dark eyes are tired and Kara gathers that he’s been working long hours already.

She admires a hard worker. It’s a quality she’s always held tightly to herself. Work keeps her distracted from all the things she doesn’t want to think about. Which, is a lot of things. A lot of _uncomfortable_ things.

Something in the back of her mind nags at her. A blur. Strange lights. The clink of a belt buckle. The scent of cologne far above her pay grade. Kara refrains from biting her broken lip and pushes the thoughts away before the detective sees a change in her demeanor.

_Nothing happened to you. Just go home and wipe this night away._

“Miss Hayes. I get you’ve had a rough night. I can see that you’re a strong young lady, but you don’t need to pretend here. Not with me. I’m on your side. The other girls won’t talk because they don’t consider themselves credible…due to their line of…work. Most are happy with the money they’ve been given and went along with it willingly. We really need your help.”

The female detective remains leaning against the wall, eyeing Kara in a discerning manner. “Ray, she doesn’t fit the MO. We’ve never had someone who could actually be considered credible in a court of law. It’s always been working girls, because he pays them for what he wants to do. He’s just a good paycheck to most of those women. Rough, but a paycheck.”

“You aren’t helping.” Detective Wellis, Ray, shifts in his seat to look at his partner with a scowl. “What if Miss Hayes was a mistake? She could be the one.”

_Cologne that reeks of money. Spice. Sweet tobacco. A firm hand on her jaw. Warm, controlling._

The sharp memory makes something twist in Kara’s gut uncomfortably. She mentally repeats her mantra that _nothing happened_ and moves half out of the hospital bed. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. Where is the doctor? I need to check out of this place before they bill me an arm and a leg over this split lip.”

“Miss Hayes, please-”

“I have nothing to tell you. Get me my doctor so I can get out. I’m not suing anyone over this split lip. _I’ll live_.”

She’s had worse than a split lip before. It takes more than this to break her.

With an exasperated sigh, the female detective leans outside the room and calls for the doctor. Moments later, an older woman enters the room, holding a chart. “Good to see you awake, Miss Hayes. How are you feeling?”

Kara doesn’t have time for niceties. She’s always found them to be false anyway; it isn’t like anyone actually _cares_. “Am I okay? Sound to go home?”

The doctor glances at her chart and sighs. “You are. Nothing is broken. You were roughed up. Some bruising along your jaw. From…well I’d speculate being grabbed. You also had drugs in your system.”

Ah, yes. The club. Kara remembers being out with Bianca. Remembers the moment she realized that someone had probably spiked her drink. How she’d pulled Bianca aside, dizzy, fading, telling her that something was wrong.

_“I think someone put something in my glass.”_

_Bianca had smiled drunkenly, wide and with far too many teeth. “Oh, shtaap. It’s just the alcohol talking. You know it’s because you’re a lightweight! Get loose, Lord knows you need to.”_

_Kara worked hard, sometimes too hard. Late nights and long weekends. Bianca had soured over the fact, bitter over the circumstance that Kara had thrown herself into her career with a one-track mind. Working to keep her mind off the past, off things she’d rather not think about._

_The way she worked hard to forget how lost she felt inside._

_The memory fractures slightly, bright lights strobing in the darkened club. The world was tilting and her body felt like it was in quicksand. “I didn’t drink that much, B. You know I cut myself off at one.”_

_Alcoholism runs in her family, after all. Is Kara an alcoholic? Probably not, but once upon a time…_

_Okay. So, she’s had problems in the past._

_Her friend had grabbed her by the chin and booped her on the nose. Bianca was too drunk, lost in the night to sense the concern in Kara’s slurring voice. “You’re fine. I’m getting another drink. Wait here.”_

_Kara didn’t wait and that’s the problem. Too independent, too strong willed._

_She had wandered out of the club, intending to find a cab home. Not thinking straight, getting worried. The problem was, she didn’t see any cabs. Or maybe she’d taken a wrong turn. Either way, she found herself walking alone in the dark, on a street with a few strangely dressed characters. Bright clothes, pretty clothes, big heels, scattered up and down the street._

_Perhaps a car had pulled up. A large car. Filled with voices. Other sounds. A limo._

Blinkingly the fuzzy thoughts away, Kara gets to her feet. “I was drugged at a nightclub. I left in a haze. It wasn’t intentional. If that’s all, I’d like to go home.”

Something akin to pity appears in the doctor’s gaze. “Are you sure you don’t want a rape kit done?”

A snake coils in Kara’s belly, tight and angry. She’s _not_ a victim and nothing _happened_. She fell. She’s fallen before, back when drinking helped numb her mind and body, shielded her from all the anger burning her alive from the inside out.

Besides, she doesn’t want the cops to get a handle on her DNA from the rape kit. Last thing she needs is for the cops to decide they want to detain her as a prostitute even though she _didn’t do anything_. They could still threaten her with it, to get her to talk about this odd night. Whatever happened…it didn’t happen to her. She doesn’t even recall. The issue _doesn’t_ exist.

Kara lifts her dark gaze to the doctor and stiffly says, “I don’t. What I want is to go home and forget about this inconvenience. I have work to do. I don’t have time for any more distractions.”

The older woman inclines her head. “Not even a swab of your mouth?”

_Nothing happened to me, I’m not weak, I’m not a victim_

Kara ignores the question. Feeling underdressed in the hospital gown, Kara looks for her purse and grabs it. “Where are my clothes? I’m going home.”

The detectives watch with disappointment in their eyes as the doctor hands over her little black dress and purse, along with her scarlet red heels.

When she has her items, she storms into the bathroom, changing with irritated movements. Whatever drug was in her system is long since gone, leaving her alert enough to know that she wants to be home in her own bed. Maybe with a cup of hot water and lemon.

_Why does my jaw hurt? What about my throat?_

_Stop. You’re fine. Nothing happened._

Kara pauses in front of the mirror, staring at her face. She doesn’t know what to feel, looking at her chocolate eyes, rimmed with smudged eyeliner and mascara. _Look at those disgraceful raccoon eyes_ , her mother would have said to her. _You look like a whore._

Her brunette hair is a mess, so she digs into her purse and puts her hair up in a clip to get it out of the way. The split lip looks worse than it feels and there is dark bruising along her jaw. As if someone had held it open. Vacantly, she moves her jaw, feels the stiffness there and shuts her eyes, cringes.

_No. Don’t think about it._

When she’s clothed, she walks out of the hospital room and bids them all goodbye.

“Wait,” Detective Wellis says after her. “Let us at least drop you off at home. Make sure you get inside alright.” His partner looks irritated about the offer, giving him an odd look.

Kara stares at him, debating telling him that she doesn’t want to endure a ride to her building with two cops that want to pry open her mind like a couple of vultures. But. It beats paying for a cab. Look how well that went earlier anyway.

“That would be nice, Detective Wellis. Thank you.”

They bring her to her building, stopping out front. Wellis hands her his card. “If you remember anything or just want to talk, call me.”

Kara gives him a weak smile that hurts, feels the pull in her lip. “Sure thing.”

It’s a lie, of course. She isn’t going to call.

She’s not going to call because nothing happened and the bruising around her neck means nothing at all.

It’s nothing a fashionable scarf can’t hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, the entire story has now been published and mostly removed from ao3 at this time. You can view more information on Goodreads. Same author, same title.   
> ______  
> © Asha Everly 2020


	2. Denial & Five Hundred Big Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Non-con material

In the safety of her apartment, Kara falls into an uneasy slumber, filled with nightmares. Only, the nightmares aren’t just dreams.

These nightmares are memories.

_“I bet you miss him, don’t you?” Her mother’s voice is dark. Smokey. The kind of voice Kara always wished she had. In this moment though, her mother’s tone is unkind, accusing. “Even after all he’s done to us, you probably want him back.”_

_“I don’t know what you want me to say.”_

_“I’ve watched you for years, little dove. You love him because he never gives you what you want. Round and round you go, trying to make him love you. He never does, does he? He never loved me. You’ve always known the truth though, Kara. You’re not stupid. He’s not wired that way.”_

_The dream shifts, light shining into her mother’s kitchen. The sun is falling in the background, an orange in the fall sky._

_Plates clatter loudly into the sink and Kara glowers over her shoulder. “I never thought I was stupid. I just figured it was natural to want your father to…I don’t know…”_

_Her mother flicks her dark auburn hair over one shoulder, looking at Kara from under heavily lidded eyes. She’s got this certain pout to her lips, unkind, the sort that says she’s going to be blunt without reservation._

_“It always made me feel like a terrible mother. Watching my little girl play out her self-fulfilling prophecy with every boy she ever dated. It was like you wanted to reenact every horrible moment of your childhood. Like you never wanted to be happy. You would chase the boys in hopes that they would love you, only when they did, you suddenly didn’t want them anymore.” Her mother sneers, hazel eyes glittering with bitterness. “You resented them for_ ruining _the_ illusion _.”_

_It touches close to home. Kara’s dark eyes flash as she storms out of her mother’s kitchen. “Why do I even bother visiting you? You always have to bring this up and I’m tired of it.”_

_Razorblades and blood. Funeral flowers. A boat load of guilt._

_A flash of darkness in the dream. A coffin. The smell of dirt is so clear, freshly broken. A sob sticks in Kara’s chest, but the dream moves on._

_It’s dark and her feet hurt. She shouldn’t have worn the three and a half inch stilettos. Why did she dance all night in these? Oh, because the heels are rocket-red and it reminds her of blood and pain and angry passion._

_“Hey sweetie, new girls go across the street. Move your tight ass on down,” someone calls out to her, voice raspy with cigarettes and alcohol._

_The words don’t make sense, she isn’t a new girl, she doesn’t even know what that means. She waves the voice off with irritation, slurring that she just wants to get home._

_Uh. It’s so dark and everything is so blurry._

_A few more paces and a large stretch limo is beside her, slowing down, keeping pace. The window rolls down slightly, but Kara ignores it, keeps stumbling forward. Her feet are probably going to bleed. Crap. What will she wear to work on Monday that won’t hurt the back of her heels?_

_Why is it so exhausting to move?_

_“Hey doll. Want to rest your feet?” Male laughter. Small female sounds. The smell of vape sticks, sickly sweet._

_Blankly, Kara looks up, rests her hand on the side of the black limo. Convenient for them to arrive for her to lean upon. She leans and balances on one heel while reaching to take off the other. Screw getting filthy feet. The fire in her toes will not be denied any further. “No shit. What does it look like,” she slurs under her breath, not really paying attention._

_She’s mad at herself. She’s always mad at herself._

_She doesn’t expect the limo door to open. She doesn’t expect the world to spin and shift wildly as she’s pulled inside._

_Someone is grabbing at her face, inspecting her like livestock or something equally insulting. “Aw, look at her. She’s like an angel with a sweet face,” a man says, running his hand through her dark locks, exposing her._

_There’s another hand, now around her neck, pulling towards someone else. He makes a noise deep in his chest, an unimpressed sort of sound. Like he doesn’t like what he sees. “She’s a baby. Send her back.”_

_She’s not that young. Is twenty-eight young?_

_“Hey, you’re the one who pointed her out.”_

_“Yeah. From behind,” the one holding her snaps with disdain._

_Irritated, drunk, drugged, and tired, Kara yanks her head away, baring her teeth in a snarl. “No one asked your opinion, asshole.”_

_Her voice is probably too slurred to be totally clear, but her intent is obvious. The hand on her neck tightens suddenly, so suddenly that she chokes on the violent lack of air that she’s been hit with. She’s so tired and wants to go home, why is this asshat making her life difficult?_

_Red alarms are distant sounds in her head._

_All the faces in the dream are a blur. She sees suits, men with legs spread wide. Brightly colored socks. Four men? The limo is large, easily seats eight. There’s even two women, but they are behind her. Their hands are busy on the laps of the men they are by, up and down, up and down. Kara glowers upwards, unable to focus, but can still feel the fire in her gaze._

_“Mouthy little bitch, huh?” He’s saying it thickly, low, like he’s aroused. “You like to fight, is that it? Fine.”_

_There are a few sounds of amusement in the limo and they echo in her head like a freakish laugh track._

_Clink. The sound of a belt buckle being undone. Somehow it sounds so loud, despite all the noise around her. Like she’s suddenly focused on this one point, this one small act. This small noise that makes her even more uncomfortable and angry._

_She’s hauled towards his lap, chest connecting with his crotch. He tells her to just ‘get it done’._

_There’s a moment of disbelief. What sort of men are these? They just…pick up chicks on the street and get sexual favors from them? And this is allowed? What world do they live in? Her stomach turns, alcohol crawling back up her throat at the very concept._

_“Do it yourself,” she mutters, struggling in his tight grasp._

_A new voice from the far end of the party limo chimes in with annoyance. “Look. We’re giving you time off your feet. Just do your job, you’ll get paid, like these fine…ladies of the night here.”_

_There’s some female giggling, though it sounds forced._

_Ladies of the night…?_

_In her effort to get away from the man holding her, Kara’s hand lands on his crotch. She almost crows with laughter. He’s soft, harmless. Ugliness creeps into her voice, because rancor is her specialty. “What am I supposed to do with that?”_

_She can’t see his face. It’s a blur, her dream is all a fog of war. She can smell him though, lord almighty that part is burned into her mind. He smells good, rich. Above her paygrade. Like, far above. Sweet tobacco. Coffee. Rum. Spicy. She’d lick his neck and eat him alive for that cologne alone if he weren’t such a prick, telling her that he’s going to pay her for…for what?_

_Like she’s a whore? Indignant rage spikes in her veins again._

_Kara can’t breathe again, his hand going stiff around her throat. Oh, he didn’t like her pointing out his soft cock, did he? “Are you nervous?” She grits it out, mocks him. “Do I scare you?”_

_She always loves a fight._

_The dream goes dark, then there’s a flash of red and a splash of pain._

_He’s…hit her? In the face? Ah. The split lip. She can taste blood on her tongue and she spits it at him. With a disorientated swing, she lashes out at him, but he grabs both of her wrists and slams her to her knees hard enough to jar her kneecaps._

_She groans in muted pain; it isn’t fair how strong he is._

_He holds her neck until she sees stars and finally a hint of anxiety creeps into her blurred mind. “Let me go, just let me go home,” she whines, fighting weakly with his grasp when it returns to her wrists._

_The harder she fights, the rougher he gets._

_He brings her face to his crotch, his fingertips roughly pressing into her jaw, because she swore to bite it off otherwise._

_He’s hard now. The violence, the acts of aggression towards her turned him on. She sags in his grip and realizes the mistake she’s made._

_This is what he wanted all along._

_Kara is going to have the last word, even around his damn fingers. “Is this why a guy like you needs to pay for sex?”_

_His fingers tighten on her jaw and he moves her face down into his lap._

_It’s like suffocating, but worse._

With a violent jolt, Kara wakes up, hand clutched to her chest as she pants heavily. Large sobs that wrack her lungs threaten to crawl up her esophagus. An emotion that feels vaguely like horror is carousing through her. It’s like her body is a carnival and ridiculously, she feels like crying.

Oh, wait. Perhaps she already is crying.

With a groan, she rubs her eyes, dismissing the wetness that she feels there. She rarely has dreams that affect her so deeply. She breathes in and tells herself that it isn’t real. “Just a dream. Just a bad dream.”

Which, of course, is a lie, but she’s always been good at denial.

What’s worse is her stomach is in knots and her core is heated. Her nether regions feel swollen and she refuses to put a hand near the source of that ache. She mutters darkly, _“_ How sick in the head am I?”

With a mutinous glance, she cranes her stiff neck to look at her clock. Seven in the morning. Early enough to get up and make coffee. To sit and read notes to prep for Monday. Something to get her mind off the past.

And to get her mind off that effed up dream.

_It didn’t happen. You are letting your imagination run away with you. This is your way of gaining control of something you don’t have control of._

With furious intent, Kara grabs her work tote, filled with her laptop and folders for her latest assignment. This will keep her busy. This will keep her mind off of the weekend until tomorrow. Her nerves are already on edge; she’s got court in the morning and this time she is going to be assisting one of the named partners at the firm; Derrick Benson.

She’d begun working at Benson & Clarke about a year ago. It was a prestigious law firm and she’d been thrilled to have gotten the opportunity to work there as a junior associate. She’d started out as an info jockey, always looking for data and documents to help senior associates on their cases.

Kara had shadowed on court days when allowed, sitting in the back to observe the back and forth, the flow of the room. It was a lot of long, unforgiving hours. She loved it. She loved that it kept her mind completely busy, kept her from worrying about her social life for the most part.

She has her one close friend from her college days. Bianca. While Bianca isn’t always the most reliable of friends, she’s fun when Kara is actually looking to relax her mind, if only for a bit.

Her childhood home had been too much of an unpredictable disaster to allow anyone to get close, let alone come home with her. During her time away college, she became fast friends with the wild child Bianca, full of boho style.

Bianca is a good match for Kara, who by all accounts is far too emotionally closed off to let anyone in. The other girl had made a space for herself in Kara’s heart by never giving up. “ _You’ve got trust issues. That’s cool,”_ Bianca had said one night, drinking in their dorm room _. “But I’m not trying to date you, so just accept that you’ve got to trust that you’ll always have a good time with me. Cross my heart and hope to die.”_

There’s an ugly feeling in Kara’s chest at the memory. Look where that trust got her the other night. She should have known better though; how could she have ever imagined that Bianca could be trusted to watch her back in a club? Bianca had been too far in her own cup to think clearly. Not that she can be blamed for it, considering Bianca usually has Kara to keep an eye on her.

Kara usually never needs Bianca to take care of her and Bianca has settled into that routine. Kara is the alpha watchdog female; Bianca is her wayward pup. It’s because Kara doesn’t drink much, not anymore. Drinking leads to bad things, where she’s concerned. 

Despite all this, she feels disappointment. If there’s one thing Kara did trust in, it was that she could always trust in people to disappoint her.

She found out at a young age that if she always expected the worst in people, she could never be hurt. Nothing could touch her. She built a wall around her heart that no one could penetrate and it kept her safe.

With a sigh, Kara realizes that she should probably check her phone to see if Bianca even texted her to make sure she got home alright. Then again, Bianca would probably say, _“You’re twenty-eight, you don’t need me to baby you.”_

Or something to that note.

Sipping her coffee, inhaling the soft scent, Kara opens up the large folder that Derrick had sent her home with to study. The case is…well, it isn’t clean cut. Apparently, there’s a private sex club for the rich and for the freaky in one of the financial district skyscrapers. _Dark Mirage_ took up two floors, the fortieth and the forty-first in the building. A special passcode was required to enter.

From there, apparently any fetish could be met.

Weeks ago, a woman had gone to the hospital with bruising and cuts, along with visible signs of sexual assault. Which, of course could be attributed to rough sex, but the anal tearing in addition to the vaginal trauma made that seem a little less likely. She’d been a member of the club, which she had been reluctant to mention, given the nature of the situation.

She’d been going for a few months and had been seeing one of the professional Dom’s there. Apparently, she’d been looking to live on the edge for a while. She admitted to being interested in extreme pain and submission.

This woman, Debra Mills, had told her Dom to stop when he’d decided to suspend her from the ceiling with…an anal hook. Kara had squirmed in her seat when Debra Mills had told the story, piece by piece. Because, what the fuck?

The act had started on the ground with Debra’s arms bound up behind her back, a cord from the inserted hook connecting to her bound wrists. Apparently, Debra had been _fine_ with this until the Dom connected her bound hands to a chain, hoisting her into the air, putting extreme pressure on her arms and...delicate bits.

Debra adamantly claims she told him to stop. As it were, the Dom hadn’t listened. Then, while Debra fell into what she called ‘subspace’ due to the chemicals in her body kicking into overdrive, he’d tied her down onto a table and had sex with her when Debra was in no position to say ‘no’ anymore.

Ah, the legalities of it all. The whole affair is a twisted slope and Debra wants justice against the club owner as well, claiming the club is aware that they employ less than savory characters. It’s a two-front battle.

Kara and Derrick are the counsel of the woman.

These cases are always miserable. It’s always a ‘he said, she said’ situation. One can never actually see the facts. No one ever knows the truth behind locked doors.

The opposing counsel, servicing both the Dom and the club, will no doubt say the woman had paid to be there, thus she knew what she was getting into as a consenting adult. It’s Kara’s job to prove that just because Debra is a member of the club, it doesn’t mean she wants to be hung from a ceiling like a sack of meat, then forced into a sexual encounter while she’s injured.

Derrick had warned her that this case wouldn’t be cut and dry. It wouldn’t be easy. _“The opposing counsel is experienced with this sort of case,” he’d said in a serious tone. “If we aren’t careful, they will swing this story however it best benefits their clients.”_

For a moment, Kara drifts, her stomach feeling sick again.

There’s something that just won’t let her go as she sits there sipping her coffee, staring blankly at page after page of documentation.

How easy it must be, to assault defenseless young women. How easy it must be; especially if you’re the type that gets off on it. Kara presses the heated coffee mug to her forehead, trying to burn the ache of her head away.

Spice, coffee, and rum. God, _he’d_ smelled so good. The idea of sweet tobacco smoke makes her mouth water.

With anger, Kara shuts the thought down quickly. Nothing happened to her; she wouldn’t be another girl on the stand saying how weak she’d been. How she’d allowed herself to be taken advantage of. Her pride would not allow it, her furious angry pride.

None of that matters though, because it didn’t happen.

_It didn’t happen because he isn’t real. He’s a figment of your imagination, Kara. This case freaks you out and now you’re having nightmares about weird, twisted things._

Even if he’s only a dream, a nightmare, she remembers how relaxed his voice had been when he was done. The way his hand had gone soft in her hair, as he pet her like a cat. “Good girl, sweetpea,” he’d said in that slight rasp of his. “Off you go.”

He’d placed something in her hand. Something she’d fiddled with and he’d helped her stuff into her purse before pushing her out into the night.

Kara freezes, suddenly going cold. She stares at the opposite wall, eyes wide with a certain moment of panic. Without another thought, she dashes from the kitchen table and goes looking for her purse, tearing into it with a maddened fervor.

_No._

With weak limbs, she sinks to the ground with her purse, staring down at it with shaking hands. In the bottom of the purse is a large wad of cash that she knows is not hers. Five hundred dollars, five hundred damning pieces of paper lie at the bottom of the purse, laughing at her denial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are loved!!
> 
> © Asha Everly 2020


	3. Trouble in Court

The morning of court, Kara’s limbs feel numb, like her body is ready to sink into the floor and disappear. She didn’t sleep well the night before, even after pouring over the case files. She’d tossed and turned, haunted by rough, phantom touches and cruel memories from long, long ago.

When she enters the shower to prepare for the day ahead, she turns the water on scalding, disappearing into it the way she always did as a teenager when her father was drunk and using her mother as a punching bag, their shouts dulled by the shower tiles.

Kara has long since learned that no matter how long she stands under the spray, she’ll never be able to block out reality long enough. That nothing can quite burn away the angry ashes of her soul.

She dresses in a lovely black pencil skirt, one that hugs her petite frame. The blouse she chooses is austere, white with black trim on the collar, shoulders, and cuffs. Kara lightly applies mascara and gently smudges some liner in the corner of her doe eyes. Never quite overdoing it, but just enough to make her look respectably awake.

With her nerves aflutter for court, she gathers her work tote, stuffs her folders inside of it and pulls on her black heels, shiny and sharp. Distinctly, she realizes that her knee joints actually hurt and there are cuts on the backs of her heels. With a huff of frustration, Kara races back to the bathroom, wildly digging for band-aids to apply, to act as a barrier against the raw flesh.

_Crap. Don’t be late, don’t be late...Derrick won’t be happy if I’m late._

Band-aids applied, she skitters back into the kitchen to grab her wallet from her purse to shift over to her work tote.

When she fishes her wallet out of her everyday purse, she freezes at the sight of loose cash. She swallows thickly, touching her jaw lightly. She’s lucky that the collar of her blouse buttons up high, hiding the bruising there. She’d used makeup to touchup the mess on her jawline.

The fact that she has to cover anything up makes her grind her teeth together. It’s been years since she’s had to use makeup for such a thing. With a fit of rage, she snatches the money and rips it out of her purse, throwing it haphazardly on her kitchen table. Maybe she’ll burn it later. With a stomach that won’t stop turning, Kara leaves the filthy, vile, unwanted five hundred dollars. The faded green bills stare at her, as if she has committed some horrible crime.

With a rain cloud hovering over her mind, Kara leaves her place, hailing a cab to take her to court, where she finds Derrick Benson and the client already waiting. Ah. Work. The most soothing aspect of her life. With a real smile on her lips, Kara nods to the named partner of the firm. “Good morning, Mr. Benson.” On his other side is one of the firm’s senior associates, Bob Tate, an older gentleman who nods to Kara in greeting as well.

Debra Mills stands behind them, head hung in what appears to be dejection. Or shame. Kara doesn’t want to know what it’s like to have your dirty laundry hung out for everyone to see. It isn’t like the case is a quiet one; in fact, it’s quite the scandal.

The piranhas, _ahem_ , the press teams are having a field day with the whole sexualized situation, naturally. 

Their client is an unassuming looking woman, middle-aged, blonde with big blue eyes, a docile air about her. Kara gives her a tight smile, trying to seem comforting, which doesn’t come to her naturally. Comforting isn’t her style. Does she crave comfort herself? Oh, sure. But, that’s because her parents rarely ever could be bothered to give her any when she was a child. Her father could only see himself in any room, a fact that in effect made Kara’s mother too bitter to spare affection for her only child. “Are you ready, Debbie?”

The woman shrugs her shoulders in a slight motion, eyes evasive. A nervous, submissive gesture. “As ready as I ever will be, Kara. Derrick, how is today supposed to go? Is he…is _he_ going to be here?”

Derrick Benson is a good-looking man in his mid-forties, a clean-cut figure with a down to earth nature. His dark hair is only beginning to show signs of grey and his eyes are always smiling. A likeable man that people enjoyed working for. “Both sides will present their cases. As we spoke through, we are going to present that what happened to you was legitimate rape. You may have been willing to be at the club, and you may have been willing to engage with Max Donovans, but you were put in a situation where your ask to stop was ignored and you were subsequentially taken advantage of most grotesquely.” He pauses to catch Debra’s eyes in his calm gaze. “We want to push for First Degree, but the judge will likely downgrade it to Second Degree rape. In regards to the establishment, _Dark Mirage_ hasn’t put enough guard-rails in place to protect its clients and the club failed you and likely many others that may have been exposed to people who shouldn’t have the power to harm others unchecked.”

Seeing her look of nervousness, Derrick sighs. “To your final question. I’m afraid he will be here, Debra. But, he can’t harm you. He’ll be sitting with the defense. Other side of the room.”

Debra nods her understanding, giving a tired smile. Kara pats her on the arm with a wane shifting of her lips into a grin; she feels for Debra, but finds herself prevented from relating too closely. Dangerously. “You’ll do fine. The worst he can do is look at you, Debbie.”

The blonde nods, wiping at her eyes.

Gesturing to the courtroom, Derrick asks the group, “Shall we?”

He pauses at the large doorway as Bob and Debra filter into the nearly empty space first. Derrick must see something on Kara’s face, because he stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Hey. _Hey_. Don’t forget to breathe. You’re looking pale.”

 _Gah_. She doesn’t want him to think she isn’t ready for this case. It’s such a good opportunity for her to work with him directly. A stellar opportunity, in fact. She wants him to look good in front of his client; bringing him down is her biggest fear. “I’m just…nervous that I’ll let you down. Is the opposing counsel as good as you say?”

Derrick’s face darkens. “Don’t worry about the opposing counsel. Leave them to me. Keep sharp on the files, on objections, discrepancies…and we will be good. This is a tough case. A long haul. And, if we win, there could be a promotion in the cards for you. You’ve worked hard; it’s time to get your toes wet.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Kara says with a grin, feeling bolstered by his praise.

_It’s one of those things that’s stayed with her forever; her father had always played favorites between Kara and her mother when he could be bothered to notice them. One week you were the Queen of the Castle and the next week…you were lower than a worm crawling through a corpse._

_It was a horrible cycle; the desperate longing shared by mother and daughter alike to receive a scrap of affection, only to receive it at the expense of the other. Then, the winds would always shift and once more the indifference would take over, infusing the victims with loss and confusion._

_Always wondering what they had done wrong, why they weren’t up to his standards._

_God, he’d always been so charming he wanted to be, her father. He liked to spin them up and watch them unwind like sick little toys. He played his games to keep himself from being bored, because he loved whirling them around like a freakish carousel that they were all chained to in equal misery._

_Hell, her father had played her mother straight into the grave, after all._

At her seat beside Derrick, Kara shuffles her papers studiously, not thinking about how praise makes her feel, about how her stomach had flipped when Derrick had shown her kindness.

More and more people start filing into the courtroom, including the honorable Judge Canry, an older man with wild tufts of white hair sticking up from his head. He scowls distinctly at the empty table where the defense team is expected to already be seated at.

Judge Canry pulls out a gold pocket watch and looks at it with a dour expression.

So, they wait, fiddling in their seats.

Just when it looks like the Judge is about to hold the absent team in contempt for being late, the doors open and opposing counsel strolls in with lazy appeal, looking clean-cut in finely tailored suits. They amount to a trio of well-dressed men and Kara can only assume one is the named partner of the opposing law firm, the infamous Nicholas Havenwood-Calais that Derrick is always complaining about.

She’s never seen him before, but she’s heard others groan in dismay around the office when they hear he’s on the opposing side of a case.

_“Calais is the kind of man that gives the rest of us a bad rap,” Derrick would always say with a grimace on his face. “He’s a viper in a suit.”_

Kara eyeballs the assembled enemy, mentally categorizing them. _Sunshine in the slate grey, Trouble in navy, and Rugby in midnight black._

Sunshine, because that one appears to be the youngest of the three men, around Kara’s age. Feathery, soft-looking blonde hair and pale eyes, a sparkling watch and fancy Italian shoes. Cute, with an open face, probably a quick laugh, too. Trouble has sharp features and an aloof expression, paired with cold eyes. He’s got an athletic build that the trim navy suit is clearly tailored for. His aura of confidence is marred by the disdain that seems to hover about his lips. Rugby simply looks like he belongs on the field, tasteful stubble on his strong jawline and a hint of a nose that’s been broken once or twice before. A tall man, half a head taller than his counterparts, with dark hair and even darker eyes. He’s got a barrel of a chest and probably sounds like thunder when he speaks.

Kara notes this all with a small amount of scorn, naturally. Idly chewing on the edge of her pen as she creeps on them as they pass by. _A bunch of former frat boys let loose, is what they are._

None of them look concerned. All three, in fact, appear to find the occasion beneath them, because Kara hears a few choice words about golfing float by in their wake. Ah, yes, expensive golf outings are _so_ important.

Trailing behind the three lawyers comes the two defendants; the Dom who committed the heinous offence against Debra, Max Donovans, along with the owner of the _Dark Mirage_ ; Paxton ‘Pax’ Brooker. Both men look unconcerned, smiling and whispering to each other.

Kara scowls; these fruitloops think they have this in the bag.

When everyone is situated, Judge Canry gives the defensive counsel a hard stare, drumming his fingers loudly. “Did you have more important engagements this morning, Mr. Havenwood-Calais? Is my court an afterthought for you now? I’m not above fining you to make the lesson stick.”

Of the men seated, Trouble in the lovely navy suit leans forward. In seconds, he transforms from being carved out of stone to beaming with a sharp smile, his perfect teeth _so fucking_ white. “My apologies, your Honor. You know I value your judgement with the _utmost_ respect.”

Kara does a double-take before leaning closer to Derrick, whispering, “So, that’s…?”

He barely nods. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Somehow, she’d imagined he’d be Rugby. Hulking and aggressive. Not…sleek and cultured looking.

Judge Canry doesn’t look impressed in the least, seemingly muttering something under his breath. He gestures with his hand absently, as if dismissing Calais entirely.

Then, the proceedings begin.

Kara watches as Derrick gives his opening arguments, standing with a certain elegance as he speaks to the crowd and the jury. He’s serious, earnest, and paints the defense in quite the terrible light. “To summarize,” he concludes, “I’m going to prove that the defense took advantage of their power, especially in Mr. Donovans’s case, to rape Debra Mills. Not only was she taken advantage of, but the _Dark Mirage_ did not step in or protect her person when she screamed for help. What sort of establishment hires people that torture others for enjoyment? And I don’t mean ‘torture’ with the crack of a whip or slap of a flog; I mean hanging someone from the ceiling with a hook in their anal cavity as they scream to be let down, only to be raped once released from suspension. The _Dark Mirage_ is grossly negligent and is well aware that many of their employees have criminal records. Thank you.”

The Judge inclines his head, “Thank you, Mr. Benson. Well spoken.”

As Derrick returns towards their table, Trouble stands up to replace him in the front of the room. With a shark grin, he wiggles his eyebrows at Derrick in passing, head turned so the Judge can’t see. Derrick scoffs.

Where Derrick is elegant when giving statements, this man is electric and Kara can’t take her eyes away as he passionately states his piece for the defense. She tells herself she’s only paying such close attention because it’s her job to, but there’s something about him that’s magnetizing.

That, and he’s absolutely awful. Awful, because he’s spinning his tale like Debra is crying rape after being ashamed of what she did with her Dom, that’s she’s a known masochist, that Trouble’s got pages of her blog printed out to share with the jury, things written in her own words about how she enjoys ‘the lifestyle’ she’s found in the _Dark Mirage_.

But, damn, he’s good at making it sound like the reality. Kara feels her stomach sink slightly; Derrick wasn’t joking when he said this case would be tough. _He’s smooth. He could talk his way out of a dark alley mugging._

 **(end chapter here** )

\-----

The proceedings drag on through the day. Pieces of evidence presented, arguments and outbursts prevalent.

Sunshine is currently up front, schmoozing his witness; a young woman who held a ‘silver membership status’. Also known as, she frequented the forty-first floor, where all the freaky and absolutely unusual shit occurred. The floor only open to those who paid the exorbitant membership fees of the _Dark Mirage_.

If you didn’t pay those membership fees, you could only access the fortieth floor, or the general floor of the private club. If you wanted a fetish met, you needed to pay for the fucking privilege. Literally.

As in, one thousand dollars per month. It was seriously obscene. The things people would do to get their rocks off… 

The witness is drawling on and on about the club and her positive experiences, Sunshine clearly leading her by the nose. The more the witness talks, the more it sounds like the club is going to be dismissed from charges.

Shifting through the papers, Kara finds herself caught on an oddity that the inspector called out on the _Dark Mirage’s_ financials. In red pen, they circled a few numbers. Every few months, there would be a large sum of money, with a bogus note explaining it away, deposited in different accounts.

It could be fraud. Embezzlement. Or. OR.

It could be payoffs…

In small letters, _‘hush money???_ ’ was written out on the paper.

Meanwhile, Sunshine is leaning against the witness stand, sympathetically cooing with the girl there. “So, what you’re saying is, you’ve never felt unsafe at the _Dark Mirage_ or to that extent, with Max Donovans?”

The girl, or woman rather, hidden under all her dark makeup, nods earnestly. Sunshine smiles gently, “Please use your words, Miss Farnsworth.”

The witness flushes, eyes wide and adoring as she looks at him. “Oh, yes, Sir. I’ve always felt safe at the _Mirage_. Maxy is one of the best Doms I’ve worked with. _So professional_. He always knows just what you need.”

It’s gag worthy and Kara is going to say something if Derrick and Bob aren’t. Debra looks ill, watching the scene unfold in front of her.

Sunshine clearly isn’t done with his obscenely flirtatious conversation with the witness. “Miss Farnsworth, you earlier mentioned that Debra Mills was struggling to pay her monthly membership fees and had an argument with Paxton Brooker over them. Now, in your opinion, is it possible that Debra Mills is looking for the ultimate payday-”

_Oh, get the fuck down, boy._

Kara stands up, one hand slamming flat on the table loudly.

“Your Honor, this is absurd,” Kara says as she gestures at the scene before them with a zigzag motion of her free hand. “Our client not swimming in cash does not preclude an elaborate scheme to bankrupt Paxton Brooker. We are here to discuss whether a rape occurred and what the _Dark Mirage’s_ involvement is. In fact, we have found record of unusual payments being made to multiple different accounts sporadically. We’ve been told anyone who abandons their membership at the club must sign an NDA. I guarantee there is a pattern of abuse here and we can prove it as we move forward. The _Dark Mirage_ is shielding abusers from justice.”

Judge Canry purses his lips, giving her a blank look that makes her guts quiver with the urge to release. Did she speak completely out of turn? Or…? “I imagine the prosecution will intend to bring forth such witnesses to support this claim that NDA’s are hiding abuse?”

It’s then that Kara feels all eyes on her, the Judge staring at her intently. She feels like a fish out of water, gasping for air. “Ah,” Kara utters lamely, “Yes. We will. That’s all, your Honor.”

 _Crap, why did I speak up? I probably sounded like a fool._ She keeps replaying every word over at the speed of light in her head, feeling nauseous. She should have let Derrick speak. Then-

Judge Canry turns his gaze to the defense. “This is a curious point made by Miss…”

“Hayes, Sir,” Derrick says for her, possibly seeing the glazed look in her eyes during Kara’s internal panic.

The older man nods sagely, “Miss Hayes has made a curious point. If a history of abuse can be proven here, the _Dark Mirage_ and its owner may be on the hook for abetting far worse crimes. NDA’s and strange sums of money do not bode well, Mr. Brooker.”

Paxton Brooker, the owner of the _Dark Mirage_ pales substantially, quickly turning to whisper in Trouble’s ear. In that moment, the named partner of the rival firm turns to stare a Kara, his eyes burning a hole into her face.

He may not have looked at Kara this entire day, but now he’s looking at her with laser beam intensity in his tropical blue eyes, anger written on his brow. However, something flickers there as he stares her down, anger melting away and being replaced with…something…something Kara can’t read.

Like he can’t quite figure something out. Like someone trying to remember a word at the tip of their tongue.

Kara gestures with her left hand vaguely, raising both her eyebrows at him in a ‘what the hell are you looking at, asshole’ expression. He stares at her for a moment longer, tongue in his cheek before he gives her a mocking smirk.

He stands up abruptly. “May I request a recess, your Honor? We weren’t expecting these…other articles to be mentioned.” Trouble has a stiff expression on his face, despite the fake grin plastered on his lips.

Derrick makes a sound under his breath in response to the Judge granting the recess. “What’s wrong?” Kara asks him, confused.

Leaning closer to her, Derrick mutters, “I sense they are going to split their counsel. Paxton Brooker is going to want to throw his employee under the bus. If they stick together, they both are going down and Calais knows it.”

“Is he abandoning Max Donovans, then?”

Derrick shakes his head and stands as the Judge dismisses everyone for the day. “No. He will move himself to representing The _Dark Mirage_ and Paxton Brooker only. Calais will give Donovans the option to continue using one a senior member of his firm or a team of associates.”

Kara quickly helps him gather up all of their documentation, making sure it’s neat and orderly before placing them back in the folders. Derrick pauses and smiles at her, “Good job speaking up. You rattled that bastard a bit and crashed his plan, clearly.”

Flushing, Kara feels her stomach heat at the praise once more.

\------

“I’ll see you back at the office,” Bob says to them, escorting Debra out the front of the courthouse.

Derrick turns back to Kara and says seriously, “We know about the NDA’s, but we need to get those people to talk. Somehow. Our game plan is going to have to be able to fight on two fronts now. There is a likelihood that we will only be able to take Donovans down on the rape, that _Dark Mirage_ may get off with a slap on the wrist. We don’t want that.”

Makes sense to Kara. She opens her mouth to ask him how he wants to proceed when they are interrupted.

“Benson,” a sly voice utters. “I called you last night; you never called back. That was exceptionally rude of you.”

Leaning against one of the pillars of stone stands their opposing counsel, Nicholas Havenwood-Calais; named partner of the Calais, Vickers, and Yates law firm. He’s smirking, though his eyes are icy as he stares down Derrick with a certain intensity that Kara does not envy.

The air seems to crackle around Derrick as his grip on his briefcase tightens. “Oh, was that you? My apologies. I’m not used to my opponents calling me the night before opening day, handing in their surrender early.”

Calais’s lips twitch, eyes narrowing subtly. “Your mistake. I was simply giving you a curtesy call that your client has no ground to stand on. Friends tell friends when they are defending a lost cause, right?”

“’Friends’ is a strong word to throw around in reference to us, isn’t it?” Derrick drawls with a hint of unpleasantness.

Examining his watch, Calais hums absently. “I suppose. I prefer friends that have a sense of ambition. You’ve been on the downswing lately. I heard about Gale leaving, by the way. Going to have to take Clarke off the placard, aren’t you? Ouch.”

Kara felt her eyes widen. Gale Clarke was leaving the firm?

With gritted teeth, Derrick replies, “That isn’t public knowledge, Nicholas. I’d thank you to keep your mouth shut for a few days.”

“Hn. Well, I want to talk to you about those NDA’s that you brought up…”

Derrick looks aghast, eyes flashing. “Oh, no. This isn’t quid pro quo!”

A flash of a wicked grin, tropical blue eyes taunting. Derrick’s face darkens as he rises to the bait…

“Derrick,” Kara interrupts, “Don’t waste your time. He knows his clients are guilty and we’re going to bury them all once someone talks. He’s _scared_.”

Those bright eyes shift over to her, as if just noticing her presence. When his gaze settles on her own, Kara swears that the air dies in her lungs, but only a tiny bit. He’s looking at her, like he’s suddenly found the answer to the puzzle that he originally couldn’t solve.

Then, he makes a sound that’s a cross between a bark and unkind laughter. He pushes off the column he’s been nonchalantly leaning on and shifts his attention back to Derrick. “Tighten the leash on your hound, Derrick. This one seems untrained.”

The absolute nerve! Motherfucker. Kara feels her vision turn suspiciously red as she tries to rein in her wrath. She grits out before Derrick can defend her honor, “Excuse me? Did you just call me a dog? I must have heard you wrong.”

“Oh, you didn’t. Here’s some advice from a senior professional.” Seeing the furious expression on Kara’s face, Calais’s condescending smile seems to widen, laugh lines deepening by his glittering eyes. “Don’t worry, this one’s free; I won’t charge. Benson might take in stray dogs with loud barks, but your attitude won’t get you far in other firms. Especially not _mine_.”

Trying to keep from trembling, Kara clenches her fists, trying to concentrate and keep her voice strong. Taking a closer step towards him with a snarl on her lips, Kara replies, “I guess it’s a good thing I have no intention of ever working for the likes of _you_.”

The smug expression on his patrician face freezes, something like anger lurking in his pupils.

Derrick smiles with pride, placing his free hand the crook of Kara’s arm, gently pulling her towards the front doors. In parting, Derrick says aloud, “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, Nicholas, but that would be a lie.”

They leave him sneering behind them and Kara can feel his gaze burning into her spine, as if he would love to tear it right out.

Something is nagging at her though. Something about how he looked at her.

_What was he thinking, when he looked at me like that? Like he recognized me? Why did he laugh?_


	4. Just One Drink

There’s nothing like being a nameless face in a fancy bar.

Exhausted, irritated, Kara wanders down a few blocks towards her favorite place to sit and drink after parting with Derrick. There’s something about it, the act of sitting down at a vacant stretch of a bar in an elegantly decorated establishment. It always feels better than sitting home alone. That, and she keeps no alcohol in her apartment.

She’s well aware that the habit is slightly dangerous, considering her past. Once upon a time, she didn’t drink to let loose; she drank because she would feel down and wanted it all to _go away_. Now, these days she’s in a better place mentally. She’s been fine to have one good drink and stop there. The urge to continue drinking no longer speaks to her.

Her father always drank vodka and to this day she can’t smell it without feeling her heart race in dread. Yet, she always orders a martini, because she’s not here to drink beer after beer. Indeed, there’s something about sipping from a martini glass, knowing everyone else knows you aren’t fucking around.

It’s all in the act, when everyone else is ordering a Stella Artois and Kara lays down the dirty, because she’s not fooling. She wants to feel her lips and face go comfortably numb before she goes home. One drink is all it takes to fade the edge.

The black hole in her stomach has been quiet lately, now that her father is far away. Mostly. She doesn’t feel the urge to drink until she’s nothing and she can’t feel the anger burning in her breast, until she doesn’t feel like a human anymore. She’s traded alcohol for nightmares; a fine trade in her opinion.

Stepping into the dimly lit bar, Kara sets her Kate Spade tote on the back of her chair and sits down, ordering her usual. The bartender gives her a nod and smile of recognition. When he brings her drink, the first sip burns terribly, the way it always does.

She embraces that, loves how vile a dirty tastes on the first sip.

Swirling her dirty martini with a tired glower, Kara senses a presence hovering just beside her. She tilts her head slightly, looking out of the corner of her eye. Her gaze catches on a fine-tailored navy suit, on shiny cufflinks that look like they cost a pretty penny.

“Mind if I sit?”

Kara barely refrains from letting her eyes widen in surprise. She’s been listening to that voice all day with gritted teeth, after all. _Stay cool,_ she thinks to herself, focusing her stare on her drink intently, conveying disinterest, _pretend that you aren’t shocked he’s here, standing next to you._

Her skin crawls with awareness, a strange anxiety fluttering in her jugular. Her body seems to remember what powerlessness feels like, even if Kara refuses to come to terms with it.

With a blank face, void of all feeling, Kara turns her head to face where he stands by her left shoulder. He’s leaning against the bar casually, his suit coat open, revealing the lovely gentle blue button-down underneath. The watch on his wrist is a black metal, with a small diamond on the artfully blank face.

He’s taller than she thought he was in court, now that he’s towering over her seated form with that smug look on his clean-shaven face. Standing over her, using his body to intimidate, to show power. His eyes are the color of the lake just before a storm, a biting blue-grey. No longer an electric tropical color, more subdued in the darkness of the bar. Those eyes seem to always be laughing, like he knows everyone’s secret and is gleefully thinking them through.

There are laugh lines around his eyes, slight ones, but they belay an age nearing closer to forty rather than thirty.

The light brown hair on his head is short, styled artfully. It has the look of a professional job. He has the money for it, no doubt. There’s a slight smirk on his lips, not exactly ill-mannered, but not kind either as he waits for her to acknowledge him.

He’s standing there, looking like a perfect Adonis in his perfectly fitted attire, with his stupidly _perfect_ face and strong jawline. Fuck, he just disgusts her, his ego floating around him like a ghost.

Nicholas Havenwood-Calais drips money from his goddamn veins.

“Oh, it’s you.” She musters as much disdain as she can into her tone. “Have you come for another supreme verbal thrashing?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly at her dismissive tone. Ah. He doesn’t like being treated as uninteresting. _Not used to that, are you, Nicky boy? Do all the ladies fall at your feet? Is that what you expected me to do? Tough luck, sauce-box._

“A verbal thrashing?” He asks instead, adopting a falsely confused expression. “Is that what you thought today was? I must have been in a different courtroom.”

Oh, boy. That sounds like a headache in verbal form and Kara is not fucking interested. Not tonight. Not with her head already in a whirl from… _that night_. “Listen. I don’t like to talk about work when I’m drinking my _special_ drink,” Kara drawls, sipping from her martini with forced laziness. “You’ve said your hello, I’ve acknowledged you, so shoo now, if you don’t mind.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw, but he maintains his ersatz grin, frozen in place. It doesn’t match his eyes, those haunting eyes. For a moment, it almost looks like he’d love to backhand her and tell her to shut her smart mouth.

Her skin heats at the thought and again she’s thinking about that night, the one that didn’t happen. _Stop, stop, stop, don’t think that way._

Or maybe that’s just Kara pushing her own imagination onto him, because the muscles in his face relax in the space of a minute. The cut of his strong shoulders eases and he gestures to the bartender, ordering some sort of swanky cabernet. The way he gracefully ignores her dismissal is vaguely irritating.

As the bartender starts pouring the glass of red, Kara scowls at the unwanted man beside her. “What part of what I just said sounded like I was inviting you to get a drink with me? We are opposing counsel, in case you didn’t realize.”

When the glass is set in front of him, Calais rolls the red liquid around in the wide glass languidly. Ignoring her words once more, he instead asks, “Are you new to Benson’s firm? I’ve never seen you in court before.” The words are carefully crafted, hiding whatever his actual goal is in asking her. He swirls the wine in his glass, waiting for her answer all while not looking at her.

Like he doesn’t actually care what the answer is.

Everything about him is slightly enraging to Kara. She wants to drag her nails down his face, because he’s smug, and he likes-

_Games_

She decides to keep it short, giving him as little info about herself as possible. “I’m an associate.”

“Clearly. Isn’t this case just a little bit _too_ advanced for a junior?”

He would think that, wouldn’t he? “Maybe I work hard for opportunities like this,” Kara replies curtly, sipping her martini.

She wants to ask him to kindly fuck off and leave her to her eternal brooding.

Havenwood-Calais gives her a thin smile, as if her words are pathetically entertaining to him. His perfect white teeth flash in a shark-like grin when he says smoothly, “Or maybe you’re screwing him.”

Kara stiffens, her fingers flexing around the stem of her glass.

His tone is casual, like he’s talking about the weather instead of gravely insulting Kara’s character.

She nearly slaps him, but physically assaulting the opposing counsel off the clock is generally frowned upon. Kara’s flabbergasted, knows her mouth is open in shock and probably looks like a fish out of water. The absolute nerve of this man to…insinuate something of the sort. “I’m not sleeping my way to the top, you numpty. Derrick is _married_.”

Calais gives her a look, like he thinks she’s a naïve baby. He scoffs lightly, blue eyes cackling with unheard laughter. “Oh, I’m aware. But, that’s never stopped anyone before, has it?” Oh, he’s one of _those_.

“You’re a pig.” She won’t entertain his vulgarities whatsoever. “Just being near you makes my drink taste like filth.”

He drinks from his wine glass, eyes still on her. Assessing her with that odd look of his, like he knows something that she doesn’t. “You’re a firecracker, aren’t you?”

“Oh, buddy, you have _no_ fucking idea,” she rasps, chomping on a blue-cheese stuffed olive with righteous fury.

She should, by all means, stab him with the little olive skewer in her drink. It would be considered justified, wouldn’t it? He did call her a corporate slut, a ladder climber. Unforgivable. As if she’d lie on her back just to get ahead.

Kara fought hard to get where she is today, fought through all the shit she left behind, fought hard to rise above it. Perhaps that’s her giant fault; she’s happy to work herself to death, but healthy human relationships are foreign ideas to her.

Objectively, she knows what a healthy relationship should be. She’s watched enough movies, seen enough television. Romance flicks are grossly foreign to her, cringe worthy in their warm fluffiness. None of it ever displayed the reality she’d lived. Every time she came across a ‘nice guy’, she blew it, because it never felt right, it felt too good to be true.

It always felt like a lie.

Her father had always been able to pull off nice and sweet…until he wasn’t. He’d been able to wear a mask to pretend, just long enough to reel the unsuspecting in to fit his needs. To meet his ends.

This man though, he’s still leaning against the bar to her left, picking her apart with his words and staring her down with his piercing eyes. He makes her feel like a child, makes her feel small and vulnerable. Kara doesn’t like feeling that way, doesn’t like how it makes her think of-

_-that night_

Frowning, Kara turns in her seat a bit more to face him fully. More head on. To seem in control, to appear tougher than she actually is. When she focuses on him, she narrows her eyes and tries to understand what he wants. A man like him is always out for something. Men like him don’t waste their time on girls like Kara. Broken, angry girls that come from messed up homes. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

The corner of his mouth quirks at her tone, his eyes glittering with far too much ego for Kara to digest. “Looking at you like what?”

“Like you know me.”

“Do I?” Airy, drawling. He’s got this…this husky sort of voice, with a rasp in the undertone. Despite that, it reeks of culture and money. And it’s-

 _Mocking_.

Irritation growing, Kara takes a deep sip from her martini, gesturing for the bartender to refill it. She shouldn’t ask for a refill, but she does. _Extra-dirty,_ she tells the gentleman behind the bar before whirling to face her opposing counsel. “I don’t know, Mr. Havenwood-Calais. _Do you_?”

There. _Right there._ Something in his eyes goes dark, wicked. In that moment, Kara knows he’s likely the most untrustworthy scumbucket she’s ever had the displeasure to meet and her heart pounds in her chest like the thunder of horse hooves, her stomach twisting.

His expression is blank, but those eyes speak in spiteful volumes.

“Sorry, junior associate. I do not.” Calais tilts his head at this with a certain sarcasm. “I don’t think we traverse the same social circles, as it were.”

That sounds like a roundabout insult. In Kara’s ears, she hears the past echoes from childhood, from anytime a school friend mentioned that they weren’t allowed at her house, that their parents said ‘no’. The whole, _my mom saw your mom at the ER last week, cuz my mom works there…she thinks it’s better if you just come to our house instead. Is that okay, Kara?_

Just thinking about it causes a vein to throb in her temple. Scowling at this rich boy turned man, she says, “Are you…insulting me again, you goddamn bell end?”

Those stormy eyes flash with cruel amusement. Like he finds her to be such a peasant, but a precious one that entertains him, like a court jester of sorts. Absurd. He leans forward with a wicked gleam in his eyes and Kara inhales without thinking, because he smells so-

_sophisticated, which is wrong because he’s a swine and-_

His words brush her ear as he speaks, “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetpea.”

It’s like ice, crashing down from a mountain, stabbing Kara straight through the chest. For a moment, she can’t breathe, can’t think, can only stare at him in a strange sort of horror. The word, the tone of voice, it echoes in her head and she can barely breathe.

The words he says are almost meaningless, like she’s trying to make sense of them and phantom pain blossoms on her jaw. Ridiculously, her eyes drift to the hand holding his wine glass, notes the strength in it and the way his watch glitters ominously on his broad wrist.

_A soft pat on her head, fond. Pleased. ‘Good girl, sweetpea.’_

Kara feels her hands shaking and she clenches them in her lap under the bar. Her words are cracked, barely above a whisper. “What did you say?”

For a minute, he pauses before leaning back against the bar a safe distance from her person, looking away. With his profile exposed to her, she watches as he scoffs slightly, as if cursing himself mentally, perhaps even laughing at her expense. There’s a flash of his teeth, perfect white, aggressive. Oh, he’s thinking something.

Probably thinking of how stupid Kara is.

Because she’s an absolute idiot.

Kara feels ill, feels the world burning, because he smells of sweet tobacco, coffee, and spiced rum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copyright © 2020 by Asha Everly


	5. Scars Below the Flesh

End of available content.

Hello lovely readers- as noted, after working through this entire story and posting it weekly here on AO3 (completed at 120,000 words), this story has finally moved on to the next step in its life. Due to that, no more chapters are available here. Thank you for understanding. You can always find out more info on Goodreads, as the book has its own detail page. Same name, same author. 

Thank you so much to everyone that was involved with giving feedback while I was working through this long, dark story. You are all fabulous. 


	6. Up it Comes, Out it Pours

End of available content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	7. When It Rains, It-

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	8. The Height Before the Fall

End of available content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copyright Asha Everly 2020


	9. The Mask

End of available content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	10. Party Lights & Poor Choices Pt. I

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	11. Party Lights & Poor Choices Pt. II

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	12. Violence and the Taste of Sin

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	13. The Room

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This original fiction and the characters within belong to Asha Everly 2020 ©


	14. A Dark Bargain

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	15. A Dangerous Game Pt. I

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_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	16. A Dangerous Game Pt. II

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	17. The Unexpected Appearance

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	18. Lies on the Water

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	19. Taken By Surprise

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	20. Dangerous Encounters in the Dark

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	21. Case Closed

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


	22. Daddy Dearest

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © Asha Everly 2020


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